Pilgrimage (33 page)

The two hours from Salem to Gravesend felt unbearably closer to eternity in the back of the hearse. By the time Griffith announced that they were almost there, every joint in Roland's body had locked in place. He'd rolled and wriggled and shifted as much as he could to spread the discomfort and, as a result, his whole back hurt more or less evenly. He considered that this must be what it felt like when people talked about feeling old. He couldn't be sure. He'd never felt old, just hung over.

The small town of Gravesend remained quiet and seemingly empty but now it had become barren of all signs of life. The trees that lined the roads and shaded the park had dropped every leaf and stood slowly rotting while black ash clumped in piles at their base, withered, gnarled bundles of grey twigs sat where shrubs and rose bushes decorated lawns only a day ago. Nothing had been safe from Lloyd's disease – if it was organic, it was dying. Even the houses with wooden weatherboard walls were crumbling. Soon there would be no Gravesend, just the ashen remnants of something dead, sitting either side of the highway.

Griffith noticed more cars on the streets of Gravesend than when he had come through last time. Some of their engines were still running, some were stopped at strange angles or pressed up against walls. And all of them had people slumped forward, fast asleep.

“Is all this because of Lloyd?” Roland asked.

Griffith shook his head. “Not the people. Lloyd doesn't know any magic that strong. Pentdragon must have cast some kind of sleeping spell on the whole town. It must only affect normal people. I didn't even know magic could distinguish between sorcerers and normal people. But anyone who slowed down as they came through, to get a good look at the dying town, would have been affected by the spell. Anyone who stopped for lunch or came to visit friends would have been hit by it, too. Oh jeez, if the roads keep getting blocked, it'll only get worse. All these people will just sleep until the disease kills them.”

“Yasu, can you do anything?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But, for now, let them sleep. It will be easier for us if they are not awake to see us.”

“If you say so.” Roland fingered the beads on his neck. Hopefully Master Yasu's magic was as strong as everybody said. He didn't fancy taking a nap until they were far clear of Gravesend.

Griffith drove straight for the church. On arrival, Master Yasu left the car without a word and circled both the chapel and its grounds before going inside. Her feet left black, charcoal footprints through the doors. Griffith paused to take in the damage. The church grounds were the worst. They had come to the centre of Gravesend's death. The bodies of Lloyd and Caia had decayed and rotted down to the bone, leaving nothing recognisable of who they once were. Master Yasu came back and put her bag down on the road.

“I have never seen anything like it,” she said.

“Can you stop it?” Griffith asked.

“I can try. I will need time to meditate and understand what is happening and I will need time to prepare the spell.”

“What can we do to help?”

“I need some things.” Master Yasu knelt down and unfastened the bag. Roland and Griffith gathered around her and Yasu handed them four paper scrolls and a tall glass jar. “Take the scrolls and put one at the four compass points of the town. While you're doing that, collect some of the ash and dirt and dead wood from around the town and put them into the jar. Then bring the jar to me.”

“What's all this for?” Roland asked.

“The papers are gofu – talismans - and they will help me see the town. I will need the ash to study before I know what spell I must make.”

“Compass points, gofu, ash, dirt, wood. Got it!” Griffith said. Master Yasu thrust two jars and paper into Griffith's arms, picked up her bag and went back into the chapel.

“Do not disturb me until you are done. I will be waiting in here.” She closed the doors behind her, leaving Roland and Griffith alone on the road. They swapped looks and, without speaking, came to an understanding. Whatever she wanted, she got; no matter how strange. Master Yasu was the best chance they had for stopping Lloyd's complete destruction of Gravesend. There was no knowing what else his legacy would consume as it spread, swallowing the fields and forests like a burning inferno of decay.

Roland and Griffith ran for the main road and turned westward, not stopping until they had passed the last house in Gravesend and stood beneath a white road sign. Roland took one of the gofu from Griffith and unrolled it. Large, black, Japanese characters ran the length of the white paper. He turned it in his hands, unsure of what to do next. He looked to Griffith but the younger man only shrugged. Roland shrugged back at him, turned to face the street sign and slapped the paper against it. The gofu stuck. Roland and Griffith exchanged satisfied nods and turned back towards town.

“Next one,” Griffith said.

Roland agreed by starting back along the main road. The opposite end of Gravesend was visible from the first gofu. They would only take a minute or two to cross the town. Easy. No worries. They'd be done in no time.

They reached the centre of Gravesend before they saw him. Lord Pentdragon stood waiting in the door frame of the Gravesend Hotel. His presence struck them with a defeating combination of awe and acceptance. Deep down Roland and Griffith had known this moment was inevitable and it came, as such moments always did, at the worst time.

They slowed to a walk and then stopped completely. Pentdragon stepped out onto the road and faced them with an expression of desperate fury. They were almost stunned by how plainly he was dressed. Pentdragon had forgone all velvet and capes and crowns for black slacks and a polo shirt. His clothes were pressed, his hair was styled and he was as pristine as always, save for scuffing on the toes of his black leather shoes. But, nevertheless, he was dressed, not as a king, but as an ordinary man.

“Don't stop.” Roland said just loud enough for Griffith to hear.

“You can't.” He could hear panic rising in Griffith's voice.

“Go around him. Go and place the north talisman thing first and circle around to the other side.”

“He's too powerful, Roland. Don't you remember what happened last time?”

“Go.” Roland did remember. He remembered how it felt when he couldn't walk, couldn't move even a little. He wasn't a threat to Pentdragon, just a chore. But back then, in his drunken haze, he had nothing but the thrill of pain and a sick need to show off driving him. Now, like Mal said, he had something to fight for. Was that enough? He'd find out soon. Roland tugged at the beads around his neck. So far they seemed to be doing their job, but he was about to really test their limits.

“I'll be back for you.” Griffith turned north and ran, cutting through a house, into the backyard and breaking through a wooden fence weakened and decayed by the rampant disease spreading the length and breadth of Gravesend. He turned and disappeared from Roland's view. Good. Now it was just him and Pentdragon. Roland turned to face his next challenger.

Pentdragon smiled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Roland for a second, even when Griffith fled.

“I don't mind who dies first,” Pentdragon called. “Come, I've prepared a last meal for you.”

“And you expect me to eat it?” Roland shouted back.

“That's up to you. I don't mind either way, but trust me when I say it isn't poisoned. Your death will be more painful.”

“Then why bother?” Roland already knew the answer. Pentdragon would drag this conflict out as long, and with as much drama, as he could manage.

“Come inside.”

“No. We do this now or we don't do it at all.” Roland crossed his arms over his chest. “I've had enough, Pentdragon. You want to kill us? Then let's get it over with. Anything is better than listening to a speech.”

“You just don't understand, do you?” Pentdragon huffed. “You never understood! Who do you think you are, Roland? Just what do you think this world is? None of this was meant for you. You can't possibly comprehend what is going on around you every minute of every day. You look around at all this magic and at the sorcerers you never knew existed and you think it's... What? Exciting? A brave new world to explore? You
mortals
.” The word
mortals
quivered on Pentdragon's lips as if he felt sick just saying it. ”You look down on us like we're here for your amusement or you expect us to solve all your problems. What is it you needed fixing, Roland? What did you hope to gain from your pet Sorcerer?”

“You're right, Pentdragon.” Roland unfolded his arms and nodded. “Part of me hoped that Griffith might be able to help me. Maybe he could make the pain go away, or change history. I set out with him to Salem because I thought he could help me.”

“And did he?”

“I didn't think so. All Griffith ever did was act like an idiot, and piss me off. In the end the solution had to come from me. It was always in me. But Griffith helped show me how to find that. Not because he's a sorcerer, but because he's a friend.” Roland kept his voice calm. Was he scared? Maybe a little. Pentdragon could be frightening when he wanted. But Roland wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing.

“A sweet sentiment but your lessons are too little, too late. There are laws and they must be obeyed! Disobedience must be punished and you, Roland, have arrogantly spat in the face of the law right from the beginning! I offered you so much but, like all mortals, you looked down on us. You convinced yourself that you were above our ways, as if we were children playing in a club house. The laws exist to keep dirt like you away!” Pentdragon started walking, closing the distance between him. Roland could see Pentdragon's face turning red and his hands clenching into fists. He could see Pentdragon starting to lose it. Roland forced his face to stay placid, not to give away his pride in a smirk. He just had to keep poking the beast, get Pentdragon so angry he couldn't control himself. Then, when he least expected it, Roland would lay him out flat.

“To be fair, you are a child playing in a club house and I would have done the same thing if you weren't a sorcerer,” Roland said.

“Enough! I will not tolerate your impudence a second longer. You are not just a second rate citizen, you are a second rate species and you will learn your place!” The dam broke. Pentdragon's words were flooded with rage and hate. His voice rose with every syllable until he was no longer shouting to be heard by Roland, but by the whole world. “You think you can just walk into my lands and tear apart my kingdom? You think you can challenge me? You are an ant challenging a giant and I will crush you! You will pay for the wreckage you have caused!” Pentdragon came closer and made a swift, sudden flick of the wrist. A long, slender sword materialised in his hand.

Roland didn't move. He felt some unseen force pushing at the edge of his senses.

“My people will know that Lord Pentdragon of Guyra, The High Sorcerer of the Northern Table Lands, does not concede to defeat and that my will is absolute.”

Roland had never faced down a sword before. This was going to be interesting.

Pentdragon raised the sword, the point aimed square at Roland's chest.

“Your punishment—” Pentdragon began. Roland stepped to the side and threw himself forward. In less than a second, he was past the sword. He wrapped his arm around Pentdragon's, resting his forearm under Pentdragon's triceps. Pentdragon pulled. Roland tightened his grip. Pentdragon's elbow bent against the joint. Pentdragon cried in pain. The sword dropped from his hand.

Roland pulled Pentdragon in and swung his elbow out. He loosed the hold as his elbow struck. Pentdragon's legs jerked one way and his head bounced the other.

Pentdragon went down, but only for a second. No sooner than he was back on his feet, the sword flew back into his hand. Pentdragon lunged at Roland, blade forward. Roland leapt back, making it outside Pentdragon's reach. The sword came up. Roland charged. The sword came down. Roland turned and stepped across. Pentdragon rolled his wrist, following Roland's retreat. The point sliced through the air, centimetres from Roland's flesh.

Pentdragon lowered the sword and raised his free hand.

“Stop! This is an execution and you will stay.”

“Fuck you.” Roland shot out his arm and grabbed Pentdragon's wrist. He jerked the Lord inwards and moved his grip to Pentdragon's shoulders. Roland pulled Pentdragon down and drove his knee up, into his chest. Pentdragon gasped for air, stunned and hurt. Roland swung around 360 degrees, pulling Pentdragon up by the shoulders, then threw him to the ground. Pentdragon landed, splayed out on the road. He started to rise. Roland stomped him down. Keeping one foot on Pentdragon's back, he stepped over and drove his heel into Pentdragon's sword hand. The sorcerer growled in pain and tried to pull away. Roland let him, leaving the sword where it was.

Roland took the sword. In a flash, the hilt became white hot, blistering him. He dropped it and stumbled away, clutching at his burnt hand. Pentdragon stood and called the sword to him. It flew into his hand.

“Impossible.” Pentdragon said. “My spells work on the sword, why don't they work on you?”

“It changes things, doesn't it?”

“I don't know what you've done but, I promise, it makes little difference.” Pentdragon swapped the sword into his left hand. He flexed his right wrist and winced with each movement. Roland smirked. He could tell Pentdragon wasn't used to pain. That gave him an edge. Pentdragon would find a way around Master Yasu's protection any second now and he needed to be ready. He knew how to fight a Sorcerer, keep them from focusing on a spell. Easy.